


U.R.A. Fever

by menel



Series: These Are the Days We'll Never Forget (When the Dawn is On You) [2]
Category: Strike Back
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Deception, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Unconventional courtship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: The search for Latif puts Section 20 under immense strain. Still reeling from the loss of his partner, John Porter, and then his lover, Kate Marshall, Michael Stonebridge feels this strain keenly. Caught in his own self-destructive spiral, he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Luckily, Damien Scott has more patience than anyone gives him credit for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the excellent song of the same name by The Kills from their album _Midnight Boom_.

Michael woke to the sound of his mobile ringing…and to a warm heavy weight on top of him. It took him a second to get his bearings, even as he was reaching for the mobile on the nightstand. 

“Don’t answer that,” Scott groaned, burying his head a little deeper into the crook of Michael’s neck. 

Michael wrapped his free arm around Scott’s back, even though it was clear that the other man wasn’t going anywhere. His knot had subsided and he could’ve easily slipped out, but he wasn’t willing to do that just yet. Instead, he picked up his mobile and read the name that flashed across the screen. 

“It’s Grant,” he stated. And really, it was a miracle that 20 hadn’t contacted them before this. 

“All the more reason _not_ to answer,” Scott retorted, licking a wet stripe on the side of Michael’s neck.

Michael ran his hand down Scott’s back, as if to placate him. “Stonebridge,” he said, into the receiver. He listened while Grant fired instructions for their next op. “Copy that,” he said, when she’d finished. “No,” he added. “I’ll tell Scott.” 

“Tell me what?” Scott mumbled, when Michael had hung up. 

“That we have to be at the airfield by 1400,” Michael replied, putting the mobile back on the table. 

“Where we headed?” 

“Vienna.” 

Neither of them moved. If Michael didn’t know better, he’d say that Scott had fallen asleep but three days working through Scott’s heat (it was the morning of the fourth day) had made him intimately familiar with the other man’s sleeping habits. 

“We have to talk about this.” 

“Christ, not _now_.” 

“When then?” 

“Later.” 

“That’s not very specific.” 

“Soon,” Scott revised.

Michael’s silence was evidence of his displeasure, and Scott finally propped himself up on one arm to look down at the other man. 

“Are you going to report me?” Scott asked flatly, the tension suddenly permeating from his body. 

Omegas in the military were taboo. The policy varied slightly from country to country, but the rules were strictly enforced. Ironically enough, the developing countries were more ‘progressive’ about allowing omegas to serve, albeit only in the most menial capacities. No matter how skilled an omega was, they wouldn’t be allowed in the infantry, much less an elite force like Delta or the S.A.S. 

Michael didn’t hesitate. “No,” he replied. He could see Scott’s tension bleed away, until the other man had that half-playful, half-devious expression that he reserved for his conquests. Michael realized, mildly disconcerted, that _he_ was another one of Scott’s conquests, another notch on the other man’s belt. 

“Well, then,” Scott said, as if that was all they needed to talk about. He sat up, the action slipping Michael even deeper inside him. He shifted suggestively and Michael had to hold back a moan. “How about one for the road?” he teased.

Despite his body’s reaction, Michael really wasn’t in the mood. “You have such a one-track mind,” he said. 

“Little Mikey seems interested,” Scott pointed out, shifting his hips again. Not-so-little Mikey _was_ interested, but Michael was too preoccupied. 

“Scott,” he said sharply, warningly, before he sat up, dislodging the other man from his position. 

“What?” Scott said, exasperated. “You always this crabby the morning after?” 

“This would be the _fourth_ morning,” Michael fired back. 

Scott opened his mouth to say something in reply, but shut it just as quickly. He looked perplexed, and for the first time since Michael could remember, a little uncertain too. “I get it,” he said. “You’re pissed. Not sure why, exactly.” 

Michael had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Take a wild guess, Damien,” he said. He so rarely called the other man by his first name that it obviously took Scott by surprise. 

“Look,” Scott said, uncharacteristically flustered. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.” 

Michael, who had swung his legs over the side of the bed and had been about to get up, glanced back. “Are you really?” he asked, half-curiously, half-seriously. When Scott didn’t reply, Michael shook his head. “That’s what I thought,” he said, more to himself. 

“Michael, wait,” Scott said, grabbing hold of Michael’s arm. Scott’s grip was firm. He wasn’t about to let Michael brush him off. “I’m not sorry _this_ happened. No regrets there.” At Michael’s exasperated look, Scott muttered, “Fuck this. That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“What _did_ you want to say?” Michael pushed, his patience wearing thin. 

“I’m trying to tell you that…look, I didn’t _plan_ for this to happen, okay? The exact opposite, man. You wanna guess the last time I went through a heat?” Scott kept right on talking, as though he were afraid that Michael would really take a guess. “But I _am_ sorry that you’re gonna have to lie for me now. Cos I’m assuming you will, if you’re not gonna report me.” He stopped, looking at Michael expectantly. 

“Is that all?” 

“No!” Scott said, frustrated too now. “Why are you being such a dick?”

Michael was starting to feel like a tosser, and he wasn’t sure himself why he was reacting that way. While he didn’t regret helping Scott through his totally unexpected heat, he didn’t take any kind of sex lightly. It bothered him to think that Scott did. That Scott had, in fact, used him, even though the other man could hardly be blamed for his own biology. 

“I don’t regret helping you,” Michael said quietly. “Just not too keen on the circumstances _or_ being another notch on your belt, but I’ll deal.” 

“That’s not…that’s not what this is,” Scott stuttered. “You’re not –” 

“Another conquest?” Michael offered a little ruefully. He _was_ trying to lighten up.

“No!” Scott said vehemently, looking at him like Michael had sprouted two heads. “You’d never be that. Never!” 

Michael was a little taken aback at Scott’s forcefulness. He’d been trying to make a joke. 

“Don’t you get it yet?” Scott said, his look morphing from Michael being an alien to Michael being a particularly obtuse alien. 

Michael was starting to feel like an obtuse alien. “Get what?” he asked. 

Scott let out a long-suffering sigh, as though the whole conversation was causing him a great deal of pain. Maybe it was. “You’re…” he hesitated. Then he shook his head once as if making up his mind. “You’re my alpha,” he said, looking Michael straight in the eye. 

Michael couldn’t have been more surprised if Scott had hit him with a ton of bricks. 

“I’ve known since that stupid fight in KL,” Scott went on. “Just took me a while to accept it. You must’ve known too.”

Actually, Michael _hadn’t_ known. Hadn’t even known that Scott was an omega until the irrefutable evidence was before him. It was his turn to take a deep breath, breaking eye contact. Scott’s hand felt very warm on his arm, his grip tight but Michael didn’t push him away. No, that couldn’t be right. Just…no. And yet, all the little things about Scott that he couldn’t quite explain, his own feelings and reactions to the other man made a lot more sense in light of that statement, as incredible as it seemed. 

“How many people know about you, Scott?” he asked, deflecting the issue for a moment. 

There was a beat before Scott responded. “Five,” he said, then paused. “Four,” he amended. 

“Porter was one of them, wasn’t he?” Michael said thoughtfully, finally able to see the pieces that had been right in front of him all along. “That’s the debt you owed him.” 

Scott released his arm suddenly. “Yeah, I owed Porter,” he admitted. “But even if I hadn’t,” he went on. “I would’ve left KL with you just because you asked.” 

At that admission, Michael glanced at the other man. “That’s not what it seemed like back then,” he pointed out. 

“Not much was what it seemed like back then,” Scott replied with a shrug. That was a gross understatement. 

“You remember I’m mated, right?” Michael asked, the question more difficult to get out than it should’ve been.

 _Mated, not bonded_ , his mind supplied. Kerry had never wanted a bond, and Michael hadn’t questioned it. They were a mated pair and that was enough. Bonds were becoming rare; bonds between alphas and omegas, rarer still. 

Scott’s laugh was humorless. “Just my luck?” he said, flashing Michael a grin. But now that Michael knew to look for it, he could see the resignation there; the recognition that Scott had no legitimate claim.

“Fuck,” Michael muttered, looking away again. They were in an even bigger mess than he’d originally thought. 

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. 

Michael could hear the other man shifting towards him, felt the dip of the bed and then Scott was behind him but not touching him. Michael could feel the heat of the other man’s body, and he would swear that it was physically calling him. He knew Scott was right, perhaps on some level he’d always known. But the idea of finding the omega that was his bondmate – it was something he’d never even considered. And now that potential bondmate was gently resting his head on Michael’s shoulder. Their scents mingled, as they had for the past three days. If Michael bonded them, Scott would smell like him and the alpha in him grew possessive at the thought. But Scott’s status within 20 was precarious. Bonding would further complicate matters. It would be easier for him to continue to masquerade as a beta. That’s what they needed to talk about; how they were going to proceed from this point. 

“You need to take a long shower,” Michael said, breaking the peacefulness between them. “You smell like me.” 

“I dunno,” Scott said, and Michael could practically see the self-satisfied grin on the other man’s face. “I think it’s a good smell on me.”

Michael turned his head to the right, nuzzling Scott gently as he inhaled. It was a good smell. It _belonged_ on him. 

Scott pulled away so that he could look Michael in the eye. “One more for the road?” he repeated, a familiar smirk on his face. 

Michael wanted to laugh. “Incorrigible,” he murmured, with the slightest shake of his head.

Scott took his response to be permission and he pushed Michael back onto the bed. Michael didn’t resist, landing against the pillows gently. Scott was already straddling him. 

“Should’ve known you’d be a bossy omega,” Michael observed, hands coming to rest on Scott’s waist. 

“ _I’m_ bossy?” Scott repeated, a little incredulously. “You’re a fucking beast in heat.” 

“It was the inducer,” Michael deflected. 

Scott shook his head. “Uh-uh, buddy,” he said. “That was all you.” He leaned down lasciviously. “I _liked_ it,” he added. 

“Incorrigible,” Michael repeated. Before he could say anything else, Scott pinned him down and kissed him.


	2. Future Starts Slow

The chase for Latif eventually landed Section 20 in Cape Town. Despite the urgency to locate Latif, it was almost two weeks before 20 had any kind of decent lead. In the meantime, the team relocated back to their headquarters in London, and Damien got his first real taste of the city. Sure, he’d been to London a couple of times, but they’d all been short visits. Damien had spent his life passing through, never laying down any roots. He’d never seen the point or had any reason to do so. Even now his stint with 20 seemed to him a temporary thing, probably until Latif was caught and he was able to clear his name. Of course, a certain soldier remained at the back of Damien’s mind, and the extremely unlikely scenario that said soldier would ever leave 20. Stonebridge was too loyal. Circumstances would have to be dire for him to even consider a move like that. 

Sometimes Damien wondered if he would’ve found a reason to stay with 20 if things had played out differently in Delhi, if Michael had really killed Latif or if Zubedah hadn’t revealed the conspiracy that he’d already suspected. He didn’t think about this too much since he suspected that the answer was ‘Yes.’ Besides, he and Stonebridge were officially in their courtship period, even though Stonebridge was entirely in the dark about that. Damien could charm almost any woman into bed, but getting the alpha who was his potential – 

Damien couldn’t even finish the thought. The point was he couldn’t get Stonebridge to give him a second look (never mind a first look), so the other soldier was going to be the challenge of all challenges. 

Damien never backed down from a challenge, especially one that would ultimately be so rewarding. 

So, his first job was to get to know Stonebridge out of 20, which was proving to be difficult. Michael didn’t seem to have any kind of social life, which Damien found a little dispiriting. This was compounded by the fact that the other soldier valued his privacy. Damien didn’t miss the irony since _he_ was the one with a major secret to hide. The thought that nagged at him the most was perhaps the reason Stonebridge seemed to disappear so often was because he was meeting with Kate Marshall. Damien ruthlessly buried the streak of possessiveness and jealousy that the Captain stirred in him. To think he’d found her so attractive when they’d first been introduced. He still found Kate attractive, except that she’d also become the competition, possibly even more competition than Michael’s own wife.

Speaking of Kerry Stonebridge, Damien was burning with curiosity to find out why things weren’t all hearts and chocolates at Casa Stonebridge. He’d only met Kerry once, the morning he’d waited for Michael in order to show him the message that Porter had embedded in the execution. He hadn’t detected anything amiss then. He’d even thought that the Stonebridges were the picture of domestic bliss, disrupted only by _his_ unwelcome visit. But maybe that was because Damien had been so fucking distracted by Michael at the time. At any rate, Damien remembered Michael’s morning run and it was the first detail that he latched on to. It was pure stalker behavior, but Michael ran every morning, usually in a light rain (that whole thing about dreary English weather? Totally true) and Damien took to following him from a distance. Michael chose different routes every morning, and there didn’t seem to be any particular pattern to them. On the fifth morning, Damien found himself waiting on the small bridge where Michael began all his morning jogs. When Stonebridge arrived, he didn’t seem at all surprised to see him.

“Finally decided to join me?” Stonebridge asked in lieu of a greeting. 

Damien flashed him a grin. “ _Is_ that an invitation?” he confirmed. 

“Do you need one?” Michael shot back. 

Damien shrugged. “Seemed polite,” he said, well aware that ‘polite’ was rarely in his vocabulary. 

“Because stalking is poor form,” Michael agreed. He’d finished stretching and without another word began to run.

Damien took that to be permission and easily caught up. Since Michael always ran with earbuds in place (it made Damien wonder about the sort of music Stonebridge listened to), there wasn’t any conversation between them. Damien, normally so talkative, didn’t mind the silence. It was a peaceful silence. This close to Stonebridge he was reminded of the Lotus Hotel and Michael’s calming, centering effect on him. Michael’s scent still affected him. It had been that way from the start. It was how Damien had _known_. 

So, they began jogging together every morning, meeting at the bridge and parting ways in the same place with hardly so much as a greeting or a good-bye. Some folks wouldn’t have considered jogging to be much progress, but Damien counted it as a win. Establishing a routine was integral to military life. Establishing a routine with Stonebridge _outside_ of 20? Even better.

On the sixth day, they passed by the Stonebridge flat and Kerry was outside. She waved at both of them, leaving them no choice but to stop. 

“Damien,” Kerry said, greeting him warmly. “I was just asking Michael about you the other day.” She gave her husband an even warmer smile. “He mentioned that you were working together now.” 

“What can I say?” Damien shrugged as he turned on the charm. “You Brits made an offer I couldn’t refuse.” 

Kerry laughed. “Colonel Grant isn’t really known for that,” she teased. 

“Eleanor Grant is a ballbreaker,” Damien agreed. “But I’ll grow on her. I have a way of doing that,” he added, purposely not looking at Michael as he said so. 

Kerry laughed again. “How about that breakfast?” she invited. “Your rain check?” 

Ah. 

This time Damien had to look at Michael for confirmation. There was no censure from the alpha, no hint of disapproval or a thinly veiled warning like the previous time. Stonebridge was the picture of bland indifference, as though Damien’s answer didn’t concern him in the least. _Ha!_ Damien thought. _If that’s the way you’re going to play it…_

“Breakfast would be great,” Damien answered, dialing his smile up to a thousand watts. 

Kerry beamed back. “Well, you boys finish your run,” she told them, turning back to the front door. “Everything will be ready by the time you get back,” she added, waving them off. 

Michael cut their run short that morning, and the two of them were back at the Stonebridge flat less than forty minutes later. 

“You okay with this?” Damien asked, as Michael opened the front gate for them. It was the first time that either of them was indirectly acknowledging the spontaneous breakfast invitation. 

Michael paused and glanced back before turning the key in the latch of the front door. “At this point,” he said carefully. “It would be rude to say ‘no.’” 

_That doesn’t really answer the question, buddy_ , Damien thought. But coming from Stonebridge, Damien was getting used to the non-answers. He followed Michael into the latter’s home, not feeling like such an intruder this time. His ‘guest’ status was made even clearer when he discovered that Kerry had laid out a full spread – not on the cluttered breakfast table as he’d expected – but in the dining room.

“Darling, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Michael chastised gently, kissing his wife on the cheek as she finished pouring the last glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. 

Silently, Damien echoed the sentiment. 

“Nonsense,” Kerry admonished. “We don’t want Damien to think we’re boors.” 

“He’s American,” Michael flatly replied, flashing that rare sense of humor. 

“Oh, hush!” Kerry said, but she was also trying not to laugh. 

“Well,” Damien said loudly, interrupting their domestic banter. “Kerry, this looks fantastic. _Thank you_.” He could be polite, as well as charming this morning. 

“My pleasure, Damien,” Kerry said generously, shooting her husband a look that was both smug and reproving. Damien translated the look to mean, _Play nice, dear_.

They took their places at the table and if Damien thought that the conversation would remain light and stay away from uncomfortable topics, Kerry proved him wrong immediately. 

“I always like to get to know Michael’s mates,” Kerry said. “It’s comforting knowing the person who’s watching his back out there.” 

Damien managed not to quirk an eyebrow in response, but he couldn’t help glancing at Stonebridge. Kerry was only half right. They’d made a pact to watch each other’s backs, but they were far from ‘mates’ …yet. 

“You were mates with John too, right?” Kerry continued. 

Damien thought he did a good job of not choking on his orange juice. Before he could answer, Michael intervened. 

“Porter and Scott served together in Iraq,” he said smoothly. “Prior to the invasion.” 

It was a patented Stonebridge response – answering, but not really answering the question. Luckily, it also seemed to satisfy Kerry since she nodded and didn’t pry any further. 

“Michael and John were very close,” Kerry went on a little absently, oblivious to the fact that her husband had stiffened slightly. “How long were you two together at 20? Three years? Four years?”

“Three and a half,” Michael said, his focus entirely on the plate in front of him. 

“John and Lexi spent Christmas with us these past two years,” Kerry continued. 

“Lexi?” Damien repeated. He knew – absolutely _knew_ – that Stonebridge would’ve preferred this line of conversation to end, but Damien was intrigued. Michael was too private an individual, and Damien would never be able to get this information out of the other man himself. 

“John’s daughter,” Michael supplied, finally looking at Damien. 

Damien wasn’t sure what he saw there. “Right,” he said a little distractedly, pinned by Michael’s piercing gaze. 

“Who knows?” Kerry said, unaware of the tension she’d created between the two men. “Maybe this year you’ll spend Christmas with us.” 

Damien was startled by the comment, looking at Kerry in surprise. She was smiling at him. There were so many things wrong with the idea of him spending Christmas with the Stonebridges, not least of which was Kerry herself that Damien wanted to laugh.

“Who knows?” he agreed, glancing back at Michael but the other man had already looked away. 

Thankfully, after that uncomfortable start, the breakfast conversation slipped into the more trivial and mundane. Certain topics were obviously off limits such as the work that 20 was doing. Kerry and Damien sustained most of the conversation, with Michael joining in when he was pointedly asked a question or his opinion of something. Michael was polite, but generally terse, in his answers. Scott had grown used to the other man’s reticence. It was normal at work, but now he wondered if it was normal at home too or was it his presence that was once again disrupting the Stonebridges’ dynamic? Kerry didn’t seem to mind or notice. In truth, Damien didn’t mind either. Michael’s quieter nature was a counterpoint to his garrulousness. He was talkative enough for the both of them. Besides, if – scratch that – _when_ he could get Michael to himself, there were other things Michael could do with his mouth aside from _talking_.

At the end of the meal, when Kerry was clearing away the table after forcefully refusing both Michael and Damien’s offers to help (it was as if she wanted them to be alone; for whatever reason, Damien wasn’t sure), the two of them sat at the table drinking their cups of coffee. 

“Great meal,” Damien said with a contented sigh. 

Michael glanced at him. “Not what you’re used to, I imagine,” he commented. 

For a moment, Damien thought that might’ve been a quiet jab, but then Michael added, “It’s not always like that.” 

“And you don’t approve?” Damien teased good-naturedly, before he could really think about the consequences. 

Michael shifted to face him then, leaning slightly towards him. Damien was already inadvertently mirroring the action, as though Michael were about to tell him something private.

“I agreed to watch your back out there,” Michael said quietly. “That means we’re in this together, whatever we find at the end of it.” He paused. “Doesn’t mean we have to be friends.” 

Damien felt like he’d been slapped, but he kept the teasing smirk on his face. “Aw, you wound me, Mikey,” he said, trying out a nickname that he thought might get under Michael’s skin. “You saying you don’t wanna be my friend?” 

“Porter was my best mate,” Michael continued, unfazed by Scott’s flippancy. “And I let him down.” 

Damien felt something twist in his gut. Michael’s words were heartfelt and they spoke volumes in what Michael _didn’t_ say. Stonebridge felt responsible for Porter. He wanted things to be different with Damien. To the Brit, keeping their relationship professional would make things easier; maybe make the losses not so difficult to bear. Part of Damien could understand the rationale. Hell, he’d spent his life keeping everyone at a distance. He’d had to. Otherwise, the chances of being discovered were too great. But that’s not what he wanted with Stonebridge. Not at all. Why was his alpha so goddamn stubborn?

Damien nearly fell out of his seat at the realization. It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged what Stonebridge meant to him. _His_ alpha. Well, it was true, wasn’t it? Why else was he jumping through all these hoops for the other man? 

“You all right?” Stonebridge asked, eyeing him curiously. 

Damien had been uncharacteristically silent for some time. “Yeah,” he said, finding his voice. He stood abruptly. “I should go. Tell Kerry thanks for breakfast.” 

Michael continued to eye him skeptically. “Will do,” he said at last. He looked like he was about to stand up as well, but Damien brushed him away. 

“I can show myself out,” he said. 

“See you tomorrow?” Michael asked, referring to their jog. 

“Maybe.”

* * * * *

Sir Lowry’s Pass was a dusty bit of railroad track beside a shantytown in Cape Town, South Africa. It was also where Section 20 was executing their latest op with Stonebridge, Marshall, and the team’s newest member, Damien Scott, on the ground. The mission? To intercept the meeting of a South African national who had known ties with a contact of Latif’s. The guy was just hired muscle, on the lower end of the food chain, but the thin lead was all 20 had to go on, and time was ticking away.

Sir Lowry’s Pass was a difficult place to attempt to blend in since it wasn’t the usual tourist destination, but Michael wandered around the marketplace, pretending to look interested in some of the wares. Kate was on point, and when the target arrived flanked by two escorts, she was the one who confirmed his identity. Michael waited while 20 ran the facial recognition software, trying not to dwell on how tense things had been between Kate and himself since he’d ended their affair in Delhi. Outwardly, they were as professional as ever but their personal interaction had all but vanished. He had anticipated that reaction from her – a withdrawal and a distancing – but it was difficult all the same. He missed her companionship and her camaraderie. 

Then there was Damien Scott. The American had toned down his boldness and brashness somewhat, at least in Michael’s presence. Unless Michael was mistaken (and he didn’t believe that he was), Scott was making a concerted effort to befriend him if those morning runs in London were anything to go by. Friendship had never been part of their deal. Professionalism was all that Michael was after and he studiously ignored his instinct that found Scott intriguing, even oddly compelling. No good would come from chasing that. After John and Kate, Michael wanted to simplify his life, not further complicate it. Too bad Damien Scott had other ideas. 

It was Scott who was currently holding Michael’s attention, or rather the very loud conversation-turned-shouting-match that Scott was having with a dreadlocked local. Michael had been just about to give the ‘go’ signal for a breach, until Scott’s irritated voice came across through their coms. Pretty soon, Michael didn’t even need to rely on their coms. He could hear Scott’s companion yelling from across the road. And if Michael could hear them from where he was standing, then there was no doubt that their targets could hear them too. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Michael hissed at Scott.

It was already too late. The three targets that had entered the building burst out of it in a flurry of motion, each headed in different directions. Michael, Kate and Damien were immediately in pursuit, each following the target closest to them. The man Michael was following was very hostile. He spotted Michael as soon as he exited the building, firing several shots in Michael’s direction. Michael used a tree for cover before taking off after his target, dodging more bullets along the way. He had no choice but to fire in return. Grant was barking orders through the radio, reminding them all to “Capture, not kill.” 

“Is he alive?” Grant barked at him, as soon as she saw Michael’s target go down. “Is he alive?” 

Two shots in the chest ensured that Michael’s target was definitely dead. 

“Shit,” Michael muttered, quickly inspecting the body. “Target 2 is down,” he reported back to 20. He heard Grant’s quiet curse in response.

Michael was already on his feet, doubling back to the meeting point. It was a bar with two locals in the corner and a bartender who didn’t pay Michael any attention. Michael searched the place quickly, looking for any sign that the meeting had taken place, that anything had been left behind. The metal briefcase that their main target had been carrying was on top of a table towards the back of the bar, open and empty. Beside it was a playing card that had been torn in two. Michael slipped the card into his pocket and went back outside. His first thought was of Kate and how she might need back up. He remembered the direction that she’d gone and followed suit. He caught up with her at the corner of the shantytown, relieved to see that she was fine and had subdued her target. But in his second mistake of the short operation, his appearance distracted her, giving the man on the ground an opportunity to draw his gun. Michael was forced to kill him on the spot, earning Kate’s ire in process. 

“For fuck’s sake,” the Captain told him in irritation as she stalked by him. “Capture, not kill.”

Michael inwardly grimaced, but kept silent as Kate’s scent of displeasure washed over him. To make matters worse, Scott turned up as if on cue, holding the only remaining member of the South African crew still alive. Scott tapped the prisoner’s chest once, satisfied, but the action only made Michael sigh wearily. Part of him knew that Scott had done a good job. Scott may have even been looking for some kind of acknowledgement and not simply gloating, but Michael didn’t have the energy to deal with him. Scott was former Delta force. He didn’t need coddling and looking after. _And Kate does?_ a voice insidiously asked. 

_No, of course not_ , Michael rationalized to himself. Kate was his superior officer and a perfectly capable combat soldier. That didn’t prevent the two of them from having it out in hushed tones as Oliver interrogated the prisoner.

“You better hope he talks,” Kate said, still irritated by Michael’s actions. 

“If I hadn’t taken him out, he would’ve killed you,” Michael replied, immediately on the defensive. 

“He only had that chance because of you,” Kate fired back. “I don’t need you rushing to my assistance, _Sergeant_.” 

Michael felt suitably chastised. He studied Kate’s profile for a moment, admiring the fire and determination that he saw there. “Okay,” he agreed quietly. 

“You ended up killing two of the men we were supposed to bring in,” Kate went on, oblivious to Michael’s silent apology. “Threatening our only lead to Latif. If it hadn’t been for Scott –” 

Kate wasn’t able to finish her sentence because Scott seemed to materialize behind her, leaning over her in a semi-predatory fashion. Michael knew the action was meant to be harmless, especially coming from Scott who was flirtatious by nature, but he couldn’t help but glare at the other man anyway, his protective instincts coming to the fore. Even though he’d been the one to end things with Kate in Delhi, he couldn’t just switch those feelings off. He still cared about her, deeply, if his actions that day were any indication. 

“Talking about me again?” Scott said playfully. 

Kate rolled her eyes, as Scott winked at Michael. Michael was both surprised and affronted by the action. Did Scott think they were sharing some kind of fucking joke? 

“Well?” Grant said, her sudden appearance cutting through the tension among her subordinates. 

“He’s the muscle,” Kate replied, referring to their suspect. “A petty thief from Soweto.” 

“I’m not being held up by a common criminal,” Grant said with disdain. “Right.” She turned to Scott. “With me,” she ordered, before proceeding inside the interrogation room.

“Yes, ma’am,” Scott said smartly, following his commanding officer. 

As they continued to watch the interrogation from a distance, Michael said softly to Kate, “Look. What happened out there happened because of us.” 

Kate turned to him in surprise, her face quickly hardening. “There is no us,” she said curtly. 

“Kate –” 

“Michael,” she began, instantly cutting him off. “You made your feelings perfectly clear.” 

Michael wanted to protest but Kate was one hundred percent right. 

Kate’s expression softened, as though she could read the conflict in his eyes. “But when we’re out there,” she told him, her voice equally soft. “You can treat me like a soldier.” 

Grant once again interrupted their conversation, striding between them. “He saw route maps from an armored truck company,” the Colonel announced, as Kate quickly snapped to attention. “Get them all on the phone,” Grant ordered. “I want every truck, every driver, stopped and secured. _Now_.”

As with everything that had to do with Latif thus far, Section 20 was one step behind. The team watched as local South African news reported a hold-up of an armored truck along a side road, all three guards murdered and one unidentified man found among the group. This man had clearly been shot by one of the guards in the firefight, but his jaw had also been blown off, presumably by his own crew to prevent his identification. The only survivor was a little boy, the son of one of the guards who had been abducted from his home earlier in the afternoon. The only positive news to come out of the debacle was that 20 was finally able to identify the mysterious contact from Sir Lowry’s Pass through the CCTV footage at the back of the armored truck. The hold-uppers had been careful to spray the camera, but not before a handful of images had been captured before the heist. One of those images was of Daniel Connolly, a hardcore IRA leader who had been on the run since the signing of the Good Friday Agreement. Connolly had refashioned himself as a highly skilled mercenary. 

“Right,” Grant stated after Sinclair’s assessment of Connolly’s background. “There was something else in that van,” she said, referring to the armored truck hold-up. “I want to know what it was. This is not about money. This is about hate.”

* * * * *

The next few hours were spent poring over the files related to the armored truck hold-up. Since no money was taken, Section 20 was focused on the data storage units being transported by the truck. While the units themselves were impenetrable (according to Sgt. Julia Richmond), 20 had sourced the owners of the units and were running background checks on the different companies, trying to locate one that would potentially interest a terrorist-turned-mercenary like Daniel Connolly. The companies that hired the services of the armored truck company were an eclectic group, running the gamut from the Cape Town Ballet to the accounts of local universities. But the data storage unit that raised a red flag was the one belonging to ATAT Systems, a major UK defense contractor.

Damien had been somewhat badgering Sgt. Richmond when he overheard Sinclair say the name Kenneth Bratton, a weapons designer and the main contact for ATAT Systems in South Africa. Damien recognized the name and walked briskly to where Grant, Sinclair, Marshall and Stonebridge were conducting their little powwow. 

“Did you say Bratton?” Damien asked, barging into the group and picking up the large glossy photo of Bratton that was lying on the table. 

“Yeah,” Sinclair answered. 

Damien could feel every pair of eyes at the table focused on him. He pushed the self-conscious feeling away. 

“You have our attention, Sergeant,” Grant said sharply, impatience etching her voice. 

But Damien was not quite ready to share information just yet. The pair of eyes that he felt most acutely belonged to Stonebridge, of course, but Damien refused to meet the other man’s gaze. 

“Chemical weapons guy,” he said, offhandedly answering Grant’s question. “Latif. Could be something.” He wandered away from the group, still holding Bratton’s photo in his hand. All the while, he could feel Michael’s steady gaze. 

Twenty uncovered more information after the potential link to Bratton and ATAT Systems was made. Richmond called their attention to a computer hacker named Julian Buckley who had recently landed in Cape Town and had been flagged by INTERPOL at the airport. Buckley’s resume included cleaning out the United Bank of Ireland two years ago. His link to Connolly was based on a deduction, but Grant felt there was enough to support it. Damien agreed. The guy whose jaw had been blown out at the hold-up was believed to be Hugo Lynch, a computer hacker with known ties to Connolly. Now, if Connolly had been after one of those supposedly impenetrable data storage units and was now short one computer hacker…well, it made sense that he’d have to find a replacement. 

As interesting as all that was, Damien’s priority was not Connolly but Kenneth Bratton, who seemed to be the more immediate lead to Damien’s convoluted past. He knew Bratton’s history, how Bratton had been abducted by the Republican Guard in Iraq on the eve of the Iraqi invasion. It was Porter’s team that had been sent in to retrieve the weapon’s designer. They had succeeded, but at a terrible cost. Porter had been dishonorably discharged after that. Stonebridge must’ve known all this too, Damien thought. The other soldier probably knew even more than Damien did.

By the time Grant was issuing orders again, Damien took the initiative and volunteered to interview Kenneth Bratton. 

“Volunteer?” Grant repeated, as though the word were completely foreign to her. She was looking at Damien with disbelief and something bordering on amusement. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Damien confirmed. 

Grant didn’t even take a second to consider the request. “No,” she stated flatly, practically dismissing him as she looked to Michael. “Stonebridge,” she said, calling the other soldier over. “I need you in the field.” 

“Finally,” Stonebridge muttered. Sorting through paperwork was clearly not his favorite part of the job. 

“You’re going to be tracking a man called Buckley,” Grant continued. “Sgt. Richmond will brief you.” Then Grant turned her attention to Marshall. “I need you to go to Bratton,” she told the Captain. “Kid gloves,” she added.

Kate nodded in return. Damien hadn’t budged from his spot, his hands balled into fists at his side. He knew he was glaring daggers at the Colonel, but Grant was having none of his attitude. When she finished speaking to Kate, she looked straight at him, staring him down with a fierce glare. Damien could feel the omega in him willing him to respond, to submit to the superiority of the alpha female. It was an internal mechanism that he’d long fought against and, until recently, had mastered. 

“Hey.”

Stonebridge’s voice and the tap on Damien’s arm broke the staring competition Damien was having with Grant. Damien’s eyes snapped to his alpha, the other man’s scent once again having that calming effect on him. Damien was always mildly concerned whenever that happened. Aside from the siege at the Delhi hotel where being calmer made Damien think more clearly and be a better soldier, it was disturbing to know that Michael could hold so much power over him through scent alone, and Michael didn’t even know it. What would happen if Michael _did_ know? Would he abuse that power as Damien had seen other alphas do? Damien didn’t like to think so. Of course, if Michael did know then the game would be completely up. Michael would surely have to turn him in to 20, otherwise he’d be court-marshaled himself.

“We have a job to do,” Michael told him, gently steering Damien away by the elbow. 

Damien’s reaction was almost instinctual, turning his body to come into closer contact with Stonebridge. If Michael noticed this, he didn’t comment. Damien stepped in front of the other man, leading the way out of the crib, knowing that Michael was right behind him.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Strike Back_ belongs to Sky 1 and Cinemax. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
